Page 21 of Auctioned Innocence (Bonds of Betrayal #3)
Long enough for me to become acutely aware of everywhere we’re touching—his bare chest against my cheek, his arms wrapped around me, the warmth of his skin seeping through my torn dress.
“Sofia.” My name is rough in his throat as I shift slightly, and I feel rather than see his body’s response to our proximity.
Warning or plea, I’m not sure.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, my hands still pressed against his chest.
His pupils are dilated, and there’s something raw and hungry in his expression that makes my breath catch.
“We shouldn’t,” he starts, but there’s no conviction in it. His hands flex on my waist, holding me close even as his words push me away.
“Why not?” I’m still straddling his lap from when he pulled me close, and the position suddenly feels charged with possibility. “Because of Marco? Because I’m too young? Because you think I don’t know what I want?”
“Because you’ve been through hell tonight,” he says hoarsely. “Because you’re in shock, because?—”
“Because you’re scared,” I finish for him. “Scared of what this…what this means. How you feel about”—I swallow hard—“about me.”
His eyes flash dangerously. “Sofia?—”
“I’m not a child anymore, Dante.” I roll my hips deliberately, feeling him harden beneath me, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“We could die tomorrow,” he says desperately. “Viktor could find us, could?—”
“Then don’t you think we should live tonight?”
His control snaps.
His kiss steals the rest of my protests, fierce and desperate and everything I’ve been dreaming about for years.
It’s not gentle or careful—his mouth claims mine like a man starving, and I meet him with equal hunger.
My fingers tangle in his dark hair, pulling him closer as his hands slide up my back, pressing me against him until there’s no space left between us.
When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open for him eagerly, and the groan that rumbles from his chest sends heat spiraling through me.
When we break for air, we’re both breathing hard.
His eyes are dark with want and something deeper, something that looks like reverence and terror all at once. “We should stop.”
“Should we?” I shift against him deliberately, feeling the hard evidence of his desire beneath me, and his grip on my waist tightens almost painfully. “Or should we stop pretending this isn’t what we both want?”
He searches my face for any sign of hesitation, any indication that I’m not sure.
But I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I kiss him again, softer this time, tasting the corner of his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw.
“Sofia,” he breathes my name like a prayer, and then he’s kissing me, slow and intense.
His hands map my body with reverent touches—tracing the curve of my waist, the line of my spine, the sensitive skin at the base of my throat that makes me gasp and arch against him.
When he flips us over in one smooth motion, laying me back on the bed with careful strength, I feel beautiful despite the cheap motel room, despite my torn dress and tangled hair.
The way he looks at me—like I’m precious, like I’m everything he’s ever wanted—makes my heart race for entirely different reasons than fear.
His mouth trails down my throat, finding that spot where my pulse beats wild and frantic.
When he nips gently at the sensitive skin, I can’t hold back the soft moan that escapes me.
His answering growl vibrates against my collarbone as his hands work at the zipper of my ruined dress.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rough with want. “So perfect. I’ve wanted this—wanted you —for so long.”
My response is lost as his lips find the hollow of my throat, as his hands skimming along skin he’s baring inch by agonizing inch. Every touch sets me on fire, every kiss makes me ache for more.
But just as his mouth finds the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, just as his hand slides up my bare ribs to cup my breast through the satin of my bra, my phone buzzes against the nightstand. The harsh electronic sound cuts through the moment like a knife.
Marco’s name flashes on the screen.
Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water.
Dante helps me steady my shaking hands enough to answer, his own breathing ragged as he pulls back.
“Sofia? Thank god.” Marco’s voice is frantic, tight with worry that makes my chest ache. “Are you okay? We lost contact after Vincent dropped you off.”
“I’m okay,” I assure him quickly, trying to keep my voice steady despite everything. “We’re both okay. Mostly.”
“Listen to me carefully,” Marco’s tone sharpens to the authority voice that means immediate danger. “They’re tracking our phones. All of them.
The traitor has access to our entire communication network. You need to ditch your phones and go completely dark. Now.”
Dante’s already moving, grabbing our phones and heading for the bathroom.
Through the thin walls, I can hear engines revving in the parking lot. Multiple vehicles, moving with purpose.
“How long have they been—” I start to ask, but Marco cuts me off.
“Probably since the beginning. Every call, every text, every location ping.” His tone is grim with implications I don’t want to think about. “Burn your phones. Destroy them completely. I’ll find another way to contact you.”
“Marco—”
“No time. Get out. Now. And Sofia?” His voice softens for just a moment. “I love you. Stay alive.”
The call cuts off as flashlight beams sweep past our window, casting moving shadows across the stained wallpaper.
Dante’s hand finds mine in the darkness, steady and sure. “Ready to run again?”
I squeeze once, trying to memorize the taste of his kiss, the weight of his hands, everything we almost had. Everything we might still have if we survive this.
“Let’s do this,” I whisper.